


Heinous

by llyn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dark, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:36:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5768050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llyn/pseuds/llyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just as Hux settles in for a night of uninhibited self-pity, Ren arrives at his door with a crisis of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heinous

Hux returns to his quarters after an interminable day aboard the _Finalizer_ to find a message from his mother, informing him in subtly threatening tones that she has at long last found him a suitable bride. Almost thirty, he knows it’s a miracle he made it this long avoiding his obligation to his family to marry, to produce an heir. Knowing this does nothing to cushion the blow.

In a haze he pours himself a glass of blue milk, not bothering to warm it, though he only takes it warm. He leaves his boots and socks lying in the middle of the floor, though he would never make such a mess, and collapses in bed still in uniform, wallowing.

His door chimes. He ignores it, rolling onto his back. The door chimes again. He’s suddenly so weary of duty. He can’t escape it. The interloper forgoes the wall panel in favor of rapping on the beskar iron itself. Hux hopes his mother has had the decency to find him a battleaxe of a woman—a war criminal would be acceptable, or an infamous black widow—anyone challenging, anyone but a soft, blushing virgin. Knowing her, he doubts it. He thinks he might be sick.

The knocking gives way to pounding, before the door itself rattles in its tracks. Hux heaves a sigh, long suffering. Ren, then.

It figures. Bursting with opinions nobody asked for, Ren’s a wildfire when Hux needs a monolith, a monolith when Hux needs a wildfire, and now—when Hux is at his lowest—well, Ren probably tripped over his robes rushing to pile on to the catastrophe.

In the end, it’s only a vain hope that Ren has some diverting drama of his own that convinces Hux to open the door. He uses his bedside panel, unwilling to cross the cold floor in his bare feet, uncaring what Ren will think, seeing him this way, though he has no doubt Ren will get his two cents in. Sometimes Hux likes to imagine that a kindred spirit blasted off Ren’s face in the past, thus the ugly mask, and only by an unfortunate accident did his mouth survive. Ren and his infuriating mouth. But it’s too late now.

Ren blows in, a swirl of raw fabric and hunched shoulders, coming to an abrupt halt in the doorway to Hux’s bedroom as if embarrassed by the scene within. Hux has never seen Ren’s eyes, assuming he has them, assuming he needs them what with his witchcraft. He wonders what color they are.

“What is this?” Ren asks, “What are you doing?”

Hux laughs darkly, “I’m sulking, Ren. It’s remarkable you don’t recognize it in another person.”

Ren just stands there, the poor beast.

“Can I help you with something?” Hux asks, sitting up against his headboard and reaching for his glass of blue milk—then remembering how it’s cold and disgusting and reminds him of home, which reminds him of his mother, which reminds him of his fucking fiancé, and Hux would rather fuck _Ren_ in all his towering monstrousness then a starry eyed, simpering fool. But he must and he will, for the sake of appearance, for the sake of continuity, so that the long, unbroken line of Huxs marches on into infinity.An infinity of expectations met, of orders followed. Hux would cry, if he knew how. 

Vaguely he remembers asking Ren a simple question, but Ren seems not to have noticed. Hux tilts his head back against the wall, so very weary. Through slitted eyes he watches Ren stare at his crumbled socks where they lay in the middle of the floor, his head tilted as if they whispering to him. Then the black mask swings abruptly Hux’s way, and Ren takes two of his giant, careening steps toward the bed, snatching up Hux’s blue milk before Hux has time to worry that he’s about to be assassinated—not that he wouldn’t welcome it, in his misery.

“What—” Hux says, but _what_ becomes immediately obvious. Ren cups the glass between his gloves for a moment, before holding it out for Hux, the milk steaming.

The odd gesture is surprisingly effective, in that it violently shocks Hux back into reality. He takes the glass in one hand, attempting to smooth out his hair with the other. He’s suddenly hyperaware of the state of his hair, of his bare feet, his rumbled uniform.

“You’re funny,” Ren says.

“Great,” Hux says, “Fantastic. Thank you.”

Of the hundreds of worlds Hux has seen, nebulae of shining silver, the crystalline tails of twin comets streaking past, he has never witnessed anything quite as unlikely as the demon Kylo Ren taking a ginger seat on the edge of his bed and placing a gloved hand on his knee. “If it makes you feel better, General, it’s unlikely you will ever return to your home planet.”

Hux conjures up a smile for him from the darkest corner of his heart, “Thank you, Ren, yes. I feel much better now.”

Ren nods, but doesn’t move. His hand weighs a thousand pounds.

“I assume you almost broke down my door for a reason?” Hux asks, shifting his legs out from under Ren’s grip and taking a sip of his warm blue milk. He does feel better. A bit.

“Yes,” Ren says, “Officer Paton. Terminate him.”

“Paton?” Hux blinks. Paton arrived on board only two days prior. A smiling volunteer, fast tracked through the Academy, wearing painted wooden earrings in his stretched lobes—a custom from his home planet, apparently—non-regulation of course, but Hux overlooked it because…well, because—

“He’s morally corrupted,” Ren says, “A danger. He’s perverted. He’s—”

“Well which is it, Ren? Corrupted, perverted, or a danger?”   

“He wants to fuck you,” Ren says, “Let me kill him.”

“He—” All the blood rushes to Hux’s face, which he then hides behind his hands. Ren and his _mouth_. “Get out,” he says, voice muffled.

“No.”

He knows Ren’s in his head. Ren’s always in his head, to some degree. Not that Hux blames him. His disciplined mind must be heaven compared to the asteroid field of Ren’s psyche. So he scowls at Ren and thinks, as clearly as he can, _Fuck off_. 

“No.” Ren says. It almost sounds fond.

“Officer Paton is an indispensable asset. I can’t order his death simply because you’re…” Hux puts the pieces together. Ren, always in his mind. Paton eyeing him, overbold. Hux gapes at Ren, not bothering to finish the sentence.

“Officer Paton believes himself to be a collector of exotic sexual partners. He wouldn’t please you.”

“We’re both human,” Hux mumbles over the edge of his blue milk. His ears feel hot.

“It’s not your species. It’s your—” Ren stops, looks down at his boots. Hux wonders what fresh hell awaits him, then Ren clears his throat, a blurt of static through his mask, “He likes your hair. He hasn’t. With…”

Hux groans and covers his face again, “Ren,” he tries not to sound like he’s begging, “Leave.”

“No.”

“What were you doing in his mind in the first place?” Hux asks, glaring over his knees.

Silence.

“I asked you to stay out of the crew’s heads.”

“It was loud!” Ren explodes up from the bed, pacing the floor with his fists clenched, “As soon as you walked onto the bridge today, I heard it. And he thinks I’m a menace to you, as if you needed protection from me.”

“You are,” Hux says, “I do.” He isn’t sure why he’s defending his right to fuck Paton, with whom he’s barely exchanged a dozen words, apart from the fact that he’s had enough of people making his romantic decisions for him today, “I _desperately_ need someone to protect me from your endless onslaught of melodrama.”

“So you could have more time to pity yourself? Trying to remember how to cry?” Ren asks, ignoring Hux’s furious glare, “Let me kill him. Give me permission.”

“Give you permission?” Hux stalls, reaching for his glass only to find it too cold. He holds it out to Ren.

Ren doesn’t move.

“If you’re going to fret about in my bedroom at least be useful,” Hux snaps.

Ren jerks forward to take the glass again. Resentment and heat come off him in waves.

Hux accepts his glass back, warm again, with narrowed eyes, “Why even ask? You don’t typically seek my approval before throwing a tantrum.”

“You’d be upset with me,” Ren says, “You like him.”

“It’d be a waste of an officer. I don’t like wasting resources.”

“You let him look at you,” Ren says, sounding—of all things—wounded.

Hux tries to hold his memory back, out of Ren’s reach, but it’s pointless. Paton’s painted earrings. The ghost of a smile on his face when he was introduced. Standing at attention, his eyes snuck down Hux’s frame, and Hux, who could have snapped his fingers and had his head for such insolence, let him look. Held his gaze, even, once he’d looked his fill. Then Hux had moved on, quickly, afraid to be seen pinking under the heat of that stare.

“Maybe it’s your fault,” Hux says, lifting his chin, “Maybe your blatant disregard for the rules is catching. I should have the troops screened after contact with you before there’s a pandemic—”

“You think you’d like to fuck him, but you wouldn’t,” Ren says—fast, excited words, overlapping Hux’s insults, “He wouldn’t understand you anymore than your mother, or your father, or your fiancé—”

“Ren, get out!”

“It’s against regulation for a superior officer to—”

“Yes, please quote regulation to _me_ ,” Hux says, with a breathless, disbelieving laugh.

“He’d be a liability, eventually you’d have him killed. You’d be disgusted by his attachment to you, his childish desire to protect you.”

“I thought you said he was an exotic collector.”

“I said he thinks he is. But he’s too soft for it. You’re not the kind of man who wants his hand held, Hux. And you despise softness. And, anyway, you don’t deserve it,” Ren says, crossing his arms and looming over Hux so that Hux has to crane his neck to look up into the shadows kept within Ren’s hood. 

“What do I deserve then?” Hux asks, tiring of this, “Whatever grim visage you’re hiding beneath your mask? You must be deformed beyond all hope to be this jealous of _thoughts,_ of stupid fantasies, from a man I’ve known for two days. I can’t imagine what you would do to someone who’d actually touched me.”

Ren drops onto the bed without warning, one hand closing around Hux’s throat. Pinned against the headboard, Hux claws at Ren’s forearm, breath running out too quickly, heart pounding.

“I like you,” Ren says. Hux’s startled laugh is mostly strangled, but he tries anyway. What a novel way to show affection. Ren brings his mask close to Hux’s face to say, “If you let me kill him, tonight, I’ll take off my helmet and you can see my grim visage for yourself. Even though—” Ren relaxes his grip, trailing a thumb over Hux’s quaking lips as he sucks in desperate breaths, “I’d hate to spoil your curiosity about me. I feel it like a spark in the darkness when you’re near.”

“A spark in the darkness?” This time Hux can laugh and does, “When I wonder if you’ve had your face blasted off?”

“Your fearlessness is endearing.”

Endearing. The madman finds him endearing. Well, this is certainly better entertainment than any message from his mother. Hux swallows, pushing Ren’s wandering hand away to rub at his neck, “I’ve been courted before, Ren, but as usual your methods are eccentric.”

Ren shrugs.

Hux considers his offer. Then laughs at himself for even _considering_. Then finds himself, inexplicably, considering again, “Just how monstrous are you, under there? Be honest. On a scale of one to—”

“Ten,” Ren says. There might be a smile in his voice, “But if you get too scared I promise to let you hold my hand.”

Hux lets this pass, “What about your dick?”

“How monstrous is it?” And there’s no doubt Ren is smiling now, “Ten.”

Hux rolls his eyes, “No, does it work? Or was it blasted off, too?”

“Yes, my dick works.” Ren says, then “May I?” as he puts his fingers to Hux’s cheek.

Hux ducks away, wary, “May you what? Demonstrate how your dick works?”

Ren sighs, a rattle, “May I show you what I propose?” 

“I think I’ve reached my limit for proposals today,” Hux says, but at Ren’s warning growl, gives in with a huff of “Go ahead.” He keeps his eyes open as Ren’s fingers trace over his cheekbone, wondering if Ren really needs to touch him for this.

Then his mind is flooded, suddenly, with Ren, looking out of Ren’s eyes at himself. He sees himself standing beside Ren on the bridge, smirking at something offensive Ren has said. Feels Ren’s rising anger at the officer who glares up at him from his console, new to the ship but already overconfident of his chances with Hux—Ren’s Hux—and far more protective than he has any right.

He sees himself in bed, hair tousled, pouting over cold milk.

Ren shows him his deep envy of Hux’s mind, so neatly compartmentalized, his father _here_ and his training _here_ and his fears _here_ and his dreams _here_ and his desires…Ren shows him Hux’s first time with another boy in the bunks, his affair with a senior officer who Hux watched his father execute under a false pretence, a string of lovers across a string of planets in his early twenties, then frequent masturbation as he rose in rank, then infrequent masturbation, then nothing.

Then Ren shows him what could be between him: Ren’s hand (big) around his neck, his fingers (long, slender) squeezing, Hux’s face bright red, tears escaping from the corners of his eyes, but his arms thrown above his head, not clawing for release but kneading the blankets in pleasure, body arched up toward Ren, coming hard as Ren strips his dick with his other big hand, his long, slender fingers squeezing.

He hardly recognizes himself in such a state, but can’t help but tilt his head toward Ren’s glove as the Hux of Ren’s fantasy nuzzles against his bare hand. When Ren leans down to kiss him, Hux’s lips part both in dream and reality, and—just as Ren withdrawals from his mind—Hux sees a dark curtain of hair fall forward, blocking out the light.

“You have hair,” Hux says, blinking the fog from his eyes.

“In patches,” Ren rises to his feet, but his voice is smiling again, “So, do we have a deal? General?” He draws himself up to stand nearly at attention, minus his ever-present slouch, awaiting orders. Though now Hux knows how behind Ren’s mask, his eyes stray further than Paton could ever dare. 

He calculates the loss of an officer against the strategic potential of a tame Ren, or at least, tam _er_. He calculates the size of Ren’s cock based on his height and build. He calculates his own fledgling attachment to Officer Paton, his almost-smile, his painted earrings, and finds it negligible. Ren is far more exciting, even though he’s a monster. No. Because he’s a monster. And Ren is right, Hux deserves a monster.

“Fine,” Hux says, with a flick of his hand, “Kill him. But, Ren—”

Already at the door, Ren stops, half-turning.

“Don’t drag it out too long.”

“Worried you’ll miss me?” Ren asks, before disappearing through the door, having promised nothing.

Hux stares after him, doubting his own sanity.

* * *

An hour passes before Ren returns, in which time Hux has invented and dismissed a hundred justifications for ordering the death of a perfectly competent officer. Reality has barged in, in Ren’s absence. Now there’s no escaping the truth—his decision was frivolous, personal, immature, illogical, and utterly _Ren_. He’s made a _Ren_ decision. It doesn’t sit well with him, like the rest of this horrid, unending day. Why Hux allowed himself to be swayed by Ren’s black magic is a question too troubling to confront.

Ultimately, Ren got what he wanted most—mindless destruction to sate a half-formed, wholly petty emotional impulse—there’s no reason for Hux to seal his complicity in this misadventure by collecting his end of the bargain. No reason, except that—fuck—he wants to. Except that, like his blue milk, Hux has gone cold without Ren near. It must be some spell cast against him. He’s even gone as far as to dig his silvery-white nexu pelt out of his trunk and huddle within it as he pretends not to count minutes. Pretends not to notice his stomach flipping.

When his door finally chimes he pads to the front room on cold, bare feet. The improbable man standing in the hall in Ren’s clothes holds out his hand, and Hux reaches automatically to take what is given: a pair of bloody, wooden earrings. He sticks out his tongue. Vile. 

“There may still be some ear on them,” Ren says, and—robbed of his mask—his aristocratic voice is a lovely counterpoint to his words.

“Disgusting,” Hux says, turning his back on Ren to deposit the jewelry on a nearby table. Failing to find a rag of any sort nearby, he wipes his hand off on Ren’s robes, grumbling to distract himself from his stupid, racing heart, “Can hardly find a dry spot.”

Ren catches his hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss Hux’s knuckles, “You can start a collection of your own, now, just as he would’ve collected you,” he offers, “I’m sure this won’t be the last time this happens.”

“What a gruesome idea,” Hux says, trying not to smile, but Ren’s dark eyes dance back at him all the same, “So is this your idea of the kind of romance I deserve?”

“Yes,” Ren says, interlacing their fingers and pulling Hux into his bedroom, “If I’m not too painful to look at,” he says, “Too hideously deformed.”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Hux says, batting Ren’s bloody gloves from his uniform in favor of starting on the buttons himself. “Absolutely not!” He snaps, when Ren drops onto his bed. He jumps back to standing, startled, “Strip,” Hux orders, “You’re not going to bloody my sheets.”

Ren’s eyes flare, but he does as Hux commands, cloak pooling on the floor as Hux continues work on his buttons.

“When’s the last time you got fucked, Hux?” Ren asks, teasing.

“Why?” Hux sneers back, “Do you plan on bringing me their balls?”

Ren’s bark of laughter is so unexpected it pulls an answering smile from Hux. A real smile, the strength of which seems to drain Ren of his own as he stares back. Then they’re on each other, Hux still half-tangled in the long sleeves his undershirt, Ren wet with Paton’s blood and hard and hot against him, peeling off his glove to hold the back of Hux’s head, ragged fingernails biting into his neck as Hux sinks his teeth into Ren’s plush bottom lip. They part for a moment as Ren tugs the shirt over Hux’s head, mussing his hair, then Ren winds an arm around him, crushing Hux close, hand on his ass gripping like a vice, sure to bruise.

“You bruise easy,” Ren says, but doesn’t loosen his grip, “You like it.”

Hux wants to be shoved onto the bed. Ren shoves him, and Hux falls onto his nexu fur, its warmth is now too, too hot against his flushed skin. Ren starts to climb after him when Hux snaps, “ _Ren_ ,” and Ren, with a huff, strips completely—cock long and hard, chest broad and scarred. He drags Hux’s pants off along with his underwear, Hux lifting his ass to help him. Then they’re both bare and Ren stills. 

“Good,” he says softly, ever eloquent, after a long minute spent surveying Hux. Hux opens his mouth to mock him, but the rapt expression on Ren’s face stops him.

“You have done this before, haven’t you?” he asks, instead, rising up on his elbows.

“Once,” Ren says, “When…during my first training. Long ago,” Shaking it off with a toss of his head, he climbs onto the bed beside Hux, biting at his neck, hard, “We both got into trouble,” he mouths against Hux’s skin. 

“And—ah!—look at you now,” Hux says, tilting his head back for more bites, more of anything Ren wants to give him, “In trouble again.”

Ren laughs, nose cold and breath hot behind Hux’s ear, “No. We both are.” He kisses a line beneath Hux’s jaw, before grabbing the ragged edge of the pelt and running the fur across Hux’s nipple, “This isn’t regulation,” Ren scolds, ignoring the pathetic sounds Hux is making.

Hux tries to ignore them, too, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as wrecked as he feels, “Yes, please keep bringing up regulations. I love hearing you explain them.”

“Where’d you get it?” Ren asks, trailing the edge to the other nipple.

“I— _Ren_ —I killed it. Stalked it and killed it. On leave.”

“And skinned it?”

“A-and skinned it,” Hux says, pushing away the torturous fur only to have his hand pinned to the mattress.

“Aren’t you vicious.”

“I am,” Hux says, finally pushing Ren off and rolling on top of him, grinding down, “I once,” he says, between biting kisses, “had a good man murdered for no reason at all.”  


“I heard you had several,” Ren says, then, “Reasons,” then, “Lube,” against Hux’s mouth.

Hux hears without hearing, more focused on sucking the tip of Ren’s tongue. A shudder runs through Ren’s body, head to toe, along with a gasp that Hux swallows up in another rough kiss. Whatever Ren has done in the past, Hux thinks, victorious, that wasn’t it.

“Lube,” Ren says, holding Hux off with a hand on his chest, “Now.”

Perhaps it should be depressing that all Hux can find for lube is a few packets of salve included in the standard issue medkit in his bathroom cabinet. It had given him pause earlier, when he’d scavenged his rooms after Ren disappeared to satisfy his bloodlust, leaving Hux hard and desperate. Now, it’s too difficult to judge up from down, victory from shame, right from wrong as he raids the kit for the second time in as many hours. And all doubt disappears at the sight of Ren’s smirk when the packet Hux throws from the foot of the bed hits his chest.

“Very regulation,” Ren says, ripping it open as Hux slides back onto his lap.

“I’m happy you approve,” Hux says, “Although, are you even allowed to fuck?” he teases, wincing when Ren rewards him with a slick fingertip pushed inside him, driving deeper as Hux’s walls clench in defense.

Ren watches Hux’s face as he adds a second, watches his mind as he hooks to find his prostate, shushing him gently when he cries out. He trails his other hand over Hux’s dick, lightly enough to drive him mad, “I’m starting to wonder what I can’t do,” Ren admits, voice dropping lower.

“Apart from control yourself?” Hux asks, though the blow hardly lands, as Hux is a mess, riding Ren’s fingers as if it were the cock he’s coming to realize he’s starved for.

“I could’ve killed him from half a ship away, today. I‘m sure of it,” Ren adds another finger, eyes gone black, “I only went in person because I wanted to see his face. Show him exactly what I was going to do to you, after, show him how badly you wanted it.”

“T-told you not to draw it out,” Hux moans as Ren slowly withdraws his fingers.

“Couldn’t help it,” Ren says, guiding Hux down onto his dick, “Go ahead,” he whispers, reverent. Hux lowers himself down, greedy for every inch. When Ren closes his eyes, Hux finds his gaze caught by a mole above his bitten lips. A beauty mark. Hux nearly laughs. What a day he’s had.

When he’s fully seated Ren reels him in for a kiss, flipping them over to drive Hux down into the mattress with each thrust, his legs hooked over Ren’s shoulders. Inside his body, inside his mind, Ren presses deeper and impossibly deeper, taking Hux’s broken thoughts of Yes and Mine for himself, exchanging them with his own. Hux feels what is to be Ren—the hate and love and lust and fear. The terrible power. The terrible weakness. The depth of what he feels for Hux, so deep Hux feels compelled to warn him, _No, that’s too far, you can’t—_

 _Too late_ , Ren whispers inside him, and Hux’s body burns with Ren’s shame, _It’s too late._

Overwhelmed, turned inside out, Hux hears himself moan, “Kylo,” as if begging for mercy, hands twisted in his hair. But, _he couldn’t have said it_ —Hux, no, Ren, no—he can’t be sure who thinks it, who can’t believe it, so he repeats it. But this time it feels like the most dangerous word to ever pass his lips, and—shying away—he doesn’t say it again.

Ren slides a hand between them to bring Hux off, whispering in his mind of their power, together, their rising empire, the universe on its knees, everything Hux wants to hear, until he comes with a cry, fading as Ren rises. Now Hux hears more than he wants to hear, as Ren’s control slips, the same thoughts Ren found so repulsive in Paton, too tender for acknowledgment. His hand finds Hux’s, fingers intertwining. Then as he peaks, traitorous thoughts escape, in the smallest of fragments: _run_ and _Ben_ and _love_. Then Ren comes, face buried against Hux’s neck. He lays there, shaking, and Hux can only stroke his hair and tell the fast receding tide of Ren inside his mind not to be afraid, though fear is suddenly all Hux can feel.

* * *

Hux wakes in time to shower and dress as usual. His presence is not strictly required, but he would prefer to be on the bridge today, to provide his input on Paton’s replacement. He sends his mother a message, informing her that, though he cannot take leave to return home in the foreseeable future, he is eager to meet his new intended. Appearances are important to a man of Hux’s rank.

Which is why he knows better than to look at Ren, sprawled in his bed, snoring lightly. But he can’t seem to stop himself from pausing as he pulls on his gloves in the bedroom doorway. Legs tangled, hair tangled, soft cock curving on his stomach, Ren looks good. It’s the word Ren used to describe Hux, last night, and Hux uses it now, pinking with the memory of Ren’s heavy gaze, just for him.

No. Ren could have this connection with anyone brave or stupid enough to look him in the eye. His obsession with Hux is only a matter of proximity, the thought of which sends a thrill of fear down his spine, and makes Hux suddenly desperate to close the distance between them, to slide back into bed and back into Ren’s bruising grip. Hux resists. Or, at least, he tries.

If only Ren were as ugly as he claimed, then perhaps Hux would have had a chance to flee, to abandon his post, his ship, and run far, far away. Instead, he finds himself still frozen in the doorway when Ren opens his eyes. Brown, Hux thinks, remembering yesterday’s curiosity over what Ren had hidden, under his mask—Ren’s bright spark in the darkness. Ren has brown eyes, and he blinks them sleepily at Hux now. He doesn’t speak a word, not out loud, not in Hux’s mind, but Hux goes to him all the same, pulled forward by the fate they’ve sealed together. A truly inescapable future, not an easily broken engagement, not a marriage of convenience, but the darkest of unions, sealed in blood. He’s doomed.


End file.
